For the role of the star on the decline, my choice fell on Imran Khan, the former Pakistani captain, who had just announced his retirement from the game. Very photogenic and handsome, Imran was one of the greatest names in cricket. I thought it was a casting coup. I had met Imran briefly in Bombay when he had come to play one of his first Tests as a member of the Pakistan team.

The best way for me to get in touch with Imran in London was to contact him personally. I took nobody in confidence, and purely on a personal initiative, found out his telephone number from a cricketer friend of mine, and dialed it. There was an answering machine at the other end. I felt my name and number and waited for a reply. No reply was forthcoming for a few days.

But I didn't let the matter rest there, and called his number gain, this time from Bangalore, which I was visiting for some personal work. Luckily, Iran answered this time. I told him who I was, to which he politely said he had received my earlier message, and was apologetic for not responding, as he was involved with some country cricket that had taken him outside London.

'What can I do for you, Mr Dev Anand?' Imran was very courteous.
'Everything-about what I am thinking of at the moment,' I replied.
'And what I that?'
'I believe you have retired from cricket, and I have read that you have started to model!'
'Yes.'
'So why not extend your field of activity to another direction?' I posed the question.
'And that is?' he asked.
'Will you act in my film and do the role of a fading cricket star? It will catapult you to stardom of a different kind,' I proposed.

He was speechless for while. Not a word came from him, with me anxious and eager for his reaction.

'Are you there?' I broke the silence.
'Very much!
'So?'
'You have bowled me over, Mr Dev Anand. But I don't think I am a good actor!'

I was happy that I had succeeded in putting the thought in his mind, and said, 'Maybe I can help you make up your mind if I see you personally.'

'But Mr Dev Anand...'
'I need no answer right now, Imran!' I interrupted. 'Don't take any decision either for or against my proposal until the time I see you.'
'When?'
'I shall be on the first flight available,' and I hung up, very much in keeping with the impulsive trait in me, and the desire to take quick decisions.

I booked myself on the next available flight to London, checked in at the Portman Hotel in the West End, and the first move I made was to call Imran from my room. Imran was bowled over once again.

'I said I was going to meet you in London. Would you dine with me tonight?' I fired off the first salvo.

'Why don't you come over to my apartment, at Soho?' was his reply.
'When?'
'Whenever you want!'
'Let it be now. That's why I am here.'

He gave me his address. I took a cab and found his brother in his Pathani salwar-kameez waiting to receive me at the entrance to his apartment. Imran was hospitable and obliging, a gracious host, warm and friendly, the sign of a great sportsman.

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